The air in Zurich was sharper, more hostile. The Syndicate’s secret headquarters wasn't some grand building; it was a series of concrete bunkers hidden beneath a high-end financial data center. The moment I stepped out of the private elevator, the chill of the room seemed to slice right through my expensive suit.
Madame North—Elara—was at my side, serving as a diplomatic shield that I’d ensured I wouldn't need to actually deploy.
"They're waiting in Meeting Room Five," she whispered, her voice low. "The Senior Council. They're displeased you returned without a full European mandate."
"They wouldn't be happy unless I shot down three NATO planes on the way here," I replied flatly. I felt those sharp gazes even before stepping inside.
The room was filled with ten seasoned faces, their eye
